


Warning on Solitary Living

by takadainmate



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tanuma is tired. Natsume notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warning on Solitary Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [copperiisulfate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/gifts).



He realised it first on Tuesday, on the walk home, with Nishimura and Kitamoto and Taki complaining about their new English teacher and the path icy enough to be slippery and Tanuma yawning widely for the fifth time in a row. 

“I thought I was going to fall asleep,” Nishimura said.

Taki laughed and prodded Nishimura’s shoulder sharply. His coat was so thick and Taki’s gloves so heavy Natsume doubted he would feel it. “You always do!”

Nishimura lifted his chin. “Tanuma agrees with me. Look, he can’t stop yawning.”

“He’s not even in our class!” Taki threw up her arms in disgust. “He’s just bored of _you_.”

Nishimura and Taki both looked to Tanuma. He blinked back at them and Natsume thought that it was true; Tanuma had been yawning a lot lately, and now he thought about it Tanuma had looked tired yesterday too. There were grey bags under his eyes and he walked slowly, trailing behind the others. He was never much for talking –like Natsume in that way –but he usually said more than nothing.

Tanuma shrugged and pulled his hood more closely around his face looking even more pale than usual against the white fields, thick with snow, surrounding them.

“No one ever listens to me,” Nishimura sighed. 

Taki nodded. “You’re right there at least.”

*  
Natsume didn't ask. 

It was a bad habit, he knew; don’t pry; don’t get involved; don’t care too much because it will all go wrong sooner or later and then it’ll be worse than the last time because this time, _this time_ , he was sure he’d managed not to care. 

He didn’t ask, but he did watch. Natsume was good at that. 

In the corridor, on Wednesday, between second and third period Tanuma yawned seven times. He leaned against the wall heavily and his eyes closed slowly, gradually, like he was falling asleep even with Nishimura’s enthusiastic retelling of his latest attempt to convince a girl to sit next to him on the train. The halls were busy, full of noise; it was close to the holidays, but Tanuma was silent. 

At lunch they sat in Natsume’s classroom and Tanuma scrubbed at his face five times, trying to wake himself up, sitting with his back against the window as though he hoped the cold would help. 

Before last period Natsume found himself at the door of Tanuma’s classroom, peering through the window. Half the class were out of their seats but Natsume could see Tanuma at his desk, his face was hidden behind his arms, leaning on the table, his breathing steady. 

Then, someone called Tanuma’s name, announcing, “Natsume’s at the door for you,” and it was only then that Natsume realised he didn’t actually have any real reason for being there, for watching Tanuma like this, and wondered if maybe he was being a bit weird. 

Tanuma looked up, disheveled and only half-awake, and all Natsume could think to do was smile and wave and yes, he was definitely being a bit weird. He was only saved from Tanuma’s confused frown by the arrival of a teacher and a realisation that Natsume was late to his own class. 

On the way home Tanuma hid most of his face in his scarf and was kind enough not to mention the classroom door incident in the company of others. 

Tanuma didn’t ask.

*

It was snowing outside in the dark, the lights from the windows cutting strange shadows through the night. It should have been frightening. Two years ago Natsume was sure it would have been. Sometimes when he stopped and thought about it he realised how much things had changed. It was so different to have people who knew. Who knew and _believed_.

There was sukiyaki for dinner; Natsume could smell it; Nyanko-sensei had been composing odes to it for the past hour, but all Natsume could think of was Tanuma’s eyes.

Natsume asked, “Do you think there’s anything wrong with Tanuma?”

“Apart from being a moron?” Nyanko-sensi scoffed. He was sipping hot sake straight from the carafe and Natsume didn’t want to know where the sake had come from or how it had been warmed. 

Natsume frowned at the insult but had long learned not to argue this particular point. 

“He always looks tired,” he said instead. 

“He is weak,” Nyanko-senei shrugged. Or at least, an approximation of a shrug with cat shoulders and a round face that sometimes looked bigger than his body. 

“But what if it’s… something like a monster,” Natsume persevered.

Nyanko-sensei’s eyed narrowed. 

“We’re not going out in this weather.” His paws clasped protectively around his bottle. “And definitely not before dinner.”

“But-“ Natsume started, but was cut off by a call from downstairs to come eat.

“Dinner,” Nyanko-senei grinned, and ran from the room.

*

Despite the biting cold Natsume waited for Tanuma at the school gates on Thursday. He waited until his hands were numb and he was almost late for homeroom. 

Tanuma never arrived. 

Maybe he was just sick. Half his classmates were home with a cold or flu. Maybe Tanuma had caught something. 

On the stairs to the first floor one of the youkai Nyanko-sensei sometimes drank with sat shivering, arms wrapped around himself tightly. The skin of his face was an even darker green than usual.

“Natsume-sama,” he brightened as Natsume approached. 

“You shouldn’t be at my school,” Natsume sighed. 

The youkai was looking anywhere but Natsume. “I was looking for Madarama-sama,” he said. “For… sake.”

He sounded uncertain. His teeth were chattering. Natsume couldn’t ever remember seeing a youkai look so cold before. 

“I don't know where he is,” Natsume said. The youkai winced, then looked up like he’d just remembered something, eyes wide.

“Maybe you can help!”

That was what Natsume had been afraid of.

“I have to go to class,” Natsume said.

The youkai ignored him. “There’s something making everything cold.”

“Something?” Natsume asked warily.

“Something,” the youkai nodded enthusiastically. “I bet it’s because the priest is gone again. Something’s taken over the western forest.”

That caught Natsume’s attention. “The priest is gone?”

“For three days now-“

And with that Natsume turned on his heals and headed back down the stairs, across the hall, paused only to change his shoes before he was out the door and running. His lungs hurt as he sucked in icy air; his legs burned; Natsume wondered if anyone had seen him leave the school grounds, if he’d get in trouble, but if something had happened to Tanuma it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all.

*

The forest was darker than it should have been, even with sky greyed, threatening more snow, beyond the creeping reach of the trees. The air felt heavy. 

Natsume could see his breath, could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he slowed at the boundary to the temple precinct. 

It was quiet, even his footsteps muted somehow, and Natsume resisted the urge to call Tanuma’s name.

He crept closer, keeping off the path, thinking that maybe he should have found Nyanko-sensei first. But then, he might have been too late. He might be too late now. He should have come last night. He shouldn’t have let the cold and the snow and Nyanko-sensei’s assurances that of course the idiot was _fine_ stop him. 

He could just never do anything right.

Natsume remembered the faces, even if he didn't always remember the names, of those few friends he’d had when he was little. He remembered the looks of fear, of disbelief, of hatred that they’d all had by the end. If Tanuma looked at his like that Natsume didn’t think he could bear it.

The doors of the temple were shut tight; the house too. In the dim winter light, half buried in snow, the place looked abandoned, except for the deep impressions of footprints. 

They meandered, the tracks passing the front door up the steps of the main building and then back down again. Nastume followed them around the back, keeping his distance, until he saw him; black hair standing out against the crisp clean snow like ink across a page. In that instant Natsume forgot his caution, forgot about anything except Tanuma, face down in the snow, and what would he do- what would he do if Tanuma was dead?

“Tanuma,” he breathed as he fell to his knees beside Tanuma’s head. Natsume tore off his gloves and touched Tanuma’s face; icy cold and damp but he could feel breath against his fingers and Natsume felt sick to his stomach with the relief of it. 

Alive. 

He was alive. 

*

It took a long time to drag Tanuma back to the house because he wouldn't wake up and there was no signal on Natsume’s cell phone and Natsume didn’t know what else to do. He just knew he had to get Tanuma warm. 

His hands shook as he searched Tanuma’s pockets for his keys. It took three tries to unlock the door, another age to pull Tanuma inside and close the door behind them. 

It felt almost as cold inside as out. For a long moment Natsume stood in the entrance hall breathing heavily, lost, panicked, and Tanuma’s eyes still closed.

This wasn’t helping.

Tanuma’s clothes were wet from the snow. That was something he could deal with.

Untying the laces of Tanuma’s boots was so difficult, Natsume’s fingers fumbling so badly, that he considered finding scissors. Natsume stopped, pulled off his own coat and wrapped it as best he could around Tanuma. 

At least the knots came undone. At last he pulled off his own boots. Nastume found towels and blankets. He tried not to look at he undid Tanuma’s shirt and pulled soaked-through trousers from pale legs. He found a kerosene heater in the next room, matches in the kitchen, lit the gas and turned it up as high as it would go. 

Exhausted, Natsume sat heavily beside Tanuma, head in his hands, thinking he might cry. 

Then, a familiar voice, quiet and croaky, said, “Natsume?”

Tanuma’s eyes were half open, focused on Natsume.

“You okay?”

And Natsume could have laughed. His throat felt dry; closed up. He felt himself grinning. “I’m supposed to ask you that.”

Tanuma’s smile in reply was the best thing Natsume had ever seen in his life.

*

It was the smell of hospitals that Natsume hated the most. The smell and the ghosts. 

At the end of a corridor a young boy with short cropped hair trailed after a crying woman, a nurse had an arm tightly around her shoulders. The boy looked confused. 

“You can go in now.”

Natsume looked up in susprised. There was a nurse standing in front of him. He hadn't noticed. The nurse smiled at him kindly, nodded towards the open door. 

“They asked for you.”

He was frozen to his seat; terrified that Tanuma’s dad would blame him. Terrified that everything that had happened _was_ his fault. 

But then Tanuma’s dad was at the door, asking, “Natsume? Are you coming in?” like nothing had happened. Natsume could only nod and follow. He hadn’t been able to meet Tanuma’s dad’s eyes since he’d arrived at the hospital. 

“They got you dry clothes then,” Tanuma said as Natsume approached his bed. There was more colour in his face. Tanuma reached out and took hold of Natsume’s wrist. His fingers were warm.

“You too.” 

There were so many things Natsume wanted to say. So many questions. So many apologies. 

Before he could decide where it start Tanuma’s dad was standing at his side, an arm around him.

He said, “Thank you, Natsume.”

It was the last thing Natsume had ever expected to here.

“What for?” Natsume asked in surprise. 

“You saved my son’s life.”

“But I-“

“It wasn’t your fault,” Tanuma cut in. 

Natsume could only stare at him.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Tanuma’s fingers tightened around Natsume’s wrist. “It’s not your fault.”

Natsume’s eyes burned. How could they forgive him so easily? How could they not blame him?

“If you hadn’t been there,” Tanuma’s dad said, “I don’t want to think what would have happened.”

Now Natsume couldn’t look at either of them. He didn't know what to say. He focused on the hospital logo stitched onto Tanuma’s blanket. 

And then Tanuma was pulling at Natsume enough that he overbalanced and almost fell all the way forward. Before he could recover Tanuma’s arms were around Natsume’s back.

Into his ear he said, “It wasn’t anything to do with _that_ ,” and it was like that moment when Tanuma opened his eyes and Natsume knew, he knew it was going to be alright. 

Natsume brought his own arms up around Tanuma’s shoulders and he held on. 

He’d never stop, he decided. He’d never stop holding on.


End file.
